Lockdown
by Demosthenes23
Summary: Root has a psychotic break after the traumatic events of 411. What's left of the team continues to look for Shaw.
1. Chapter 1

"How is Ms. Groves coping today, Mr. Reese?" Harold enquired as he released Bear from his sturdy restraint. The normally plucky Belgian Malinois just stood there briefly surveying the subway car, and then lay down, almost on his feet, seemingly as depressed as everyone else pretended _not_ to be. It was hard to believe that only about a year ago they had lost Carter. And now very possibly Shaw as well. Though he would never voice his fears aloud, Harold knew that the likelihood they would all face a similar fate was very high. Sooner or later Samaritan would find them...they could only hide in plain sight for so long.

Without glancing up from servicing his favourite handgun Reese said, "Same as usual, Finch. Seeing the big bad wolf around every corner." He pointed to a fading red mark across his hand. "Tried to bite my finger clean off when I gave her her meds. Had to sedate her again. Might want to get more of that stuff."

Harold frowned slightly. "That is troubling news indeed. I had hoped a higher dosage of _Symbyax_ and _Zyprexa_ would surely help her more."

"There's only one thing that can help her now." Reese paused to blow into the disassembled barrel of his gun. "And we're no closer to finding her than when we started looking two months ago."

"Not quite, Mr. Reese." Harold held up his briefcase. "I believe I may have found something of extreme value on today's excursion."

"That so?" he asked carelessly. "Something like the last four times?"

A bit peeved after all his hard work, and more than a little tired of his comrade's constant putdowns- as if he had adopted Shaw's personality disorder as a coping mechanism - Harold nonetheless managed to maintain his composure. "Even dead ends have their uses, Mr. Reese. If only to eliminate possibilities."

"Whatever you say, Finch," said Reese, greasing up some more mechanical parts.

"Since you apparently have no interest in hearing what I have to say, I will leave you to your own devices and attend to Ms. Groves. No doubt you have been lax in attending to her dietary needs once more."

Finally Reese put his weapon aside and gave Harold his full attention. He leaned back in the swivel chair at the cleared off computer space and folded his hands in his lap. "Go on then, Harold, I'm listening. This better be good though."

"Oh, I assure you it is."

* * *

><p>With military precision, Reese quickly and methodically snapped the pieces of his gun together, something Harold knew he could do almost as fast blind folded. Reese sprung up with a determined air, eager to be of use again, all the months of weariness easing off his features. Then he cocked his gun and said, "Let's go get Shaw back."<p>

"I appreciate the enthusiasm, Mr. Reese, but as you well know, someone must stay with Ms. Groves at all times. Besides, I'm afraid I would be of little use to you in this endeavour."

Reese nodded once and tapped into the universal comm line, something he hadn't done for days. "Hey, Fusco, you busy?"

There was a lengthy pause before the irate response. Loud music could be heard in the background. "Yeah, I am actually. I have this thing called a life. It might be a shitty one but I like to live it once in awhile anyway. You should try it sometime."

"We've got a new lead on Shaw's whereabouts." Reese glanced towards Harold. "The intel sounds good. _Really_ good. I think this is the one."

Another pause and then a muffled sigh. "You better be right, partner. I was this close to sealing the deal with this foxy mama who has the biggest-"

"How drunk are you, Lionel?"

"Only had a couple of beers."

"Good. Meet me at the precinct in half an hour. We'll take things from there."

Reese went to the weapons cabinet and began throwing everything- assault rifles, grenades, even a flame thrower- into a large black duffel bag.

"Was that last item really necessary, Mr. Reese?" Harold asked as Reese grabbed a bullet proof vest off the shelf and shoved it on top of the rest of his deadly supplies.

"See ya later, Harold," he answered, grunting as he lifted the hefty bag up.

"Please be careful, Mr. Reese. And good luck. I pray you succeed this time."

Reese had all but left the premises by the time Harold uttered this last bit. Now it was just him and Bear and what was left of Root in these somewhat derelict quarters. In her saner days, Root had done her best to spruce the place up, but oddly enough, it was difficult to make an abandoned subway corridor truly feel like home no matter how much interior decoration was used.

Harold scooped a few cups of dog food into Bear's bowl. Even after several prompts his best friend just continued to lay there, utterly dejected at the lose of his playmate and provider of gigantic and terrible rawhide bones. It was always a struggle now to get Bear to eat, not unlike their 'patient.' They had tried to keep Root hydrated and nourished intravenously but she would simply pull the needle out and scream that they were trying to kill her. So instead they sometimes had to spoon feed her as best they could. This was a difficult task for sure, but nothing in comparison to the trials of her bathroom breaks. The psychotic woman had frequently tried to run away when they unchained her and as such they had to keep the gate locked at all times, as if she were a small child who might fall down the stairs and do herself great injury.

But for all this, she still managed to have moments of lucidity. Whether from the drugs or her own willpower, he could never be certain. However it came to be, it was always nice to have a civilized conversation with her.

He entered the carriage and found Root in her usual corner, scribbling nonsense madly with crayons on large pieces of paper, convinced she was producing the secrets of the universe.

"No, no, no," she kept muttering under her breath.

"Good evening, Ms. Groves."

She started at the sound of his voice and then looked up and smiled. "You're just in time, Harold."

He was always just in time.

"Have you completed your equation?"

"Oh yes," she replied, her grin taking an unsettling turn. She held up the papers to him. "See for yourself."

He pretended to take a great interest in them. "Very intriguing, Ms. Groves. I particularly like this middle passage here. Very Turing like." She gazed at him with increasingly unfocused vision. "Would you like your dinner now?" No response. "Ms. Groves?"

"Oh yes," she said in a dreamy fashion, "that would be lovely, Harry."

"Won't you join me?" she asked politely upon his return.

"But of course, Ms. Groves. You are an excellent conversationalist."

The mad grin made another appearance as they sat down, but he pushed aside his unease and laid out the paper plates before them. What used to be the gun maintenance table was now relegated to mealtimes. For obvious reasons they had needed to keep her far away from a firearm. Root heard enough voices now, even without the Machine talking in her ear day and night. There was no telling what one of them would tell her to do next.

"Tell me about your day, Harry," she said as she took a big bite of her deli sandwich. She wasn't allowed any sharp objects which greatly reduced their food options.

"Well, I went on a research mission of sorts."

"Sounds fascinating. What about?"

Just speaking Shaw's name was likely to set her off. Harold knew to avoid it at all costs.

"I was attempting to ascertain the location of something very important."

"And? Did you find it?"

He hesitated a moment. "Yes, I believe so."

"I'm glad," she said, gazing off into the distance, sandwich forgotten.

"Ms. Groves, your dinner. You must eat. Ms. Groves?"

Abruptly her attention snapped back to him and she glared at him suspiciously. "What's in this anyway?"

"It's simply pastrami. Your favourite."

"I don't think so. This tastes nothing like that." She tossed the sandwich at his face and he just barely dodged the meaty onslaught. "You're trying to poison me, aren't you?" Root said jumping away from him, her ankle chain rattling. "Trying to get at my secrets. I know your ways. _She_ knows your ways! You can't trick me!"

Harold sighed and left the carriage without another word.

* * *

><p><strong>This is my first Person of Interest fic so I hope I managed all right. You'll let me know I'm sure. :D <strong>

**Stay tuned for the second part...assuming of course you guys want it. ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

The two detectives crouched from behind a car, in a camera dead zone some distance from the entrance to the ordinary looking business building. Reese peered at their destination through binoculars while Fusco watched their backs, constantly on the look out for any approaching Samaritan agents. Besides the occasional passing car there had been no movement. Needless to say it was all a bit eerie.

"You think this is a trap?" said Fusco a bit nervously.

"Almost certainly," Reese replied in his nonchalant way, lowering the binoculars. He patted the duffel bag beside them. "That's why I brought so many toys."

"You won't be able to carry half of that stuff with you." Reese just gave him a pointed look. "That's why I'm here, isn't it?"

"You catch on quick."

Fusco sighed deeply, resigned to his fate. "What the hell, let's just get this over with."

"That's the spirit, Lionel."

"Good luck, gentlemen," said Finch over the line, though Reese was the only one who heard it. "And please, no unnecessary violence."

They donned their bullet proof vests and then strapped on as many guns, ammo and miscellaneous weapons of mass destruction as they could manage without sacrificing too much mobility. Unfortunately there was no way he could take the flamethrower with him. He promised himself that someday he'd find a use for it. Hell, maybe he could burn Samaritan itself to ash. Assuming he got lucky enough to live that long. In the meantime he stashed it and their remaining supplies behind a dumpster.

Reese nodded to his partner and then they strode right up to the front entrance, assault rifles raised. When the security guard saw them his jaw dropped and his hand reached for his gun. Reese simply shook his head once and the man passively allowed himself to be knocked out.

They took the elevators to the basement. Before the doors opened they had their fingers on the triggers, ready for anything. Reese did not much feel like getting shot again, even with a vest on, so he would shoot first and ask questions later. Basically, what he always did. He vaguely wondered how many people he had knee capped over the years and how many of those had recovered only to be crippled again.

They were greeted by no one and nothing, just blank concrete corridor typical for this level. Reese signalled to Fusco and they silently headed off in opposite directions, adrenaline flowing freely. Finding nothing they doubled back to the elevator and moved along the main access channel, the one that ran the length of the building. In the middle of this corridor there was a locked door. Without hesitation Reese shot it open.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" yelped the maintenance worker, cowering from his cot.

Reese lowered his weapon.

"Congratulations, partner," said Fusco, "you just located the boiler room."

He ignored him and directed his attention to the caretaker. "Was there a woman here?"

"Woman?" he replied, confused. "What woman?"

"Short, mean, deadly. Goes by the name of Shaw."

"I don't know anything about that! I just fix the pipes!"

"Shaw's not here, Reese," said Lionel. "This was just another dead end."

He felt like shooting the guy out of sheer frustration. Instead he turned around and left.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Reese," came Finch's solemn voice. "I don't understand. I was so sure this was the correct location. All indicators pointed to the sub level complex of that Decima owned building. Are you quite sure you did a thorough enough search?"

"Yeah, Finch, I'm sure," said Reese a bit harshly. "There's nothing here. Not even anyone for me to shoot. At least the last place you sent me had some action."

Back in the elevator Fusco said, "Tough break. Seems like they really don't want us to find her."

Reese tapped off the universal comm line. "Or maybe we _can't_ find her because she's been dead this whole time and Finch is just feeding us bogus leads to keep us hopeful."

"Why would he do that?"

"Doesn't want the rest of his team going loopy. Not when there's always another number to take care of."

He realized too late that he had misspoken. With any luck Fusco wouldn't pick up on it.

"Number? What do you mean number?"

Reese was about to respond when the doors parted and there stood Shaw. Completely caught off guard they had no chance to defend themselves when she shot them both in the chests. Severely winded, he nonetheless tried to raise his rifle. Shaw simply closed the gap and pistol whipped them into unconsciousness.

A few seconds later Martine and four other Samaritan agents approached her.

"Well done agent Shaw. You've passed your first test."

"Do I get a cookie?" Shaw asked sweetly, which is to say, slightly less grumpy than usual.

Martine ignored that and gestured to Reese and Fusco's sprawled bodies. "Load them up," she ordered.

* * *

><p>Harold was beginning to get very worried. Since the abrupt cancellation of John's comm line, he had been unable to contact either of them, not even by cellphone. As far as he could determine that meant one of two things. Either they had been incapacitated in some way or...well, he wasn't going to entertain that notion just yet. He simply couldn't. The thought of it being just him and Root - a woman who had attempted to torture andor kill all of them at one time and would surely do so again given half a chance - was more than he could bear.

Assuming, like Shaw, they had been kidnapped by Samaritan, for purposes unknown yet no doubt chilling; then he had to retrieve them somehow. But how? What could he possibly do by himself against the entire might of Samaritan? Then as if in answer a distorted voice spoke in his ear. He had heard it countless times when retrieving numbers at payphones. Never did he expect to make direct contact like this. Never had he wanted it.

"So we speak at last. The situation must be dire indeed if you have gone against my wishes."

"_The assets are in danger._"

Harold was extremely relieved to hear confirmation of his comrades' status, even if it was less than ideal. At least they were still alive.

"Where are they?"

"_I will show you._"

"And no doubt you have a plan for me once you do?"

"_I will show you._"

Dubiously he looked over at the mostly empty weapons cabinet. Slim pickings indeed. "I take it I should arm myself?"

"_Negative. Unnecessary precaution."_

He was flabbergasted by this response. "I don't understand."

"_You will._"

"What of Ms. Groves? It would be unwise to leave her unattended."

"_Convey her to assets."_

"Surely you can't be serious?" he replied, beyond incredulous.

"_Root is essential_."

"I don't see how. And even if she is, there's no way for me to transport her in her current condition. To even attempt such a thing would be the height of folly."

"_I will show you._"

After this brief, yet irritating conversation with the machine, Harold was not the least bit surprised that Root had finally cracked. In fact it was a wonder she hadn't done so sooner. Perhaps her exceptional ability to balance on the edge of sanity at all times had ironically been the thing that kept her sane when other mere mortals would have perished. Whatever the case was he did not relish the idea of setting her free, but the machine was never wrong, so did he really have a choice?


	3. Chapter 3

Reese found himself thoroughly restrained within the gently rocking van when he came to, vision blurred, head pounding. Unsurprisingly he had been stripped of all his weapons, his vest and his only contact to the outside world; his ear piece. Fusco was hunched over beside him in a similar predicament, except he was still blissfully unaware of it. Across from him sat Shaw and Martine. The two Samaritan agents surveyed him with calm indifference. They appeared to be unarmed as well, but he wasn't foolish enough to really believe that. He had no doubt that if he tried to get loose they would definitely shoot him dead.

For the moment his rage at her betrayal was kept at bay by the utter hopelessness he felt. "Long time no see." Reese tried to move his arms but couldn't. The plastic ties were already digging painfully into his wrists. "Not exactly how I imagined our reunion."

She glared at him in her usual friendly manner and said, "You've gotten sloppy, Reese. Didn't even put up a fight."

Why would he have? A trusted comrade had ambushed them!

Coolly, "Untie me and we'll see just how sloppy I've gotten."

Shaw stared at him humourlessly. "You really think you could take me, Reese? Must have hit you harder than I thought."

"Yeah, thanks for that."

"Could've been a lot worse."

"Any particular reason you didn't put a bullet in our brains? Not your style to be so soft."

"Wasn't my call."

"Oh, yeah, that's right. How does it feel to be the newest Samaritan puppet?"

"I'm nobody's puppet," she half growled. Martine shifted slightly in her seat and Shaw's posture relaxed. "This was a tactical decision. That's all. Nice to be on the winning side for once."

Ungrateful bitch.

"I always knew you were cold, Shaw, but we were a team. A damn good one. You have no idea what you've done to us. Root is-"

"We're here," said Martine a bit prematurely. The van did not come to a halt for several more seconds. Then they were unceremoniously dragged out to tortures unknown.

* * *

><p>Back at the subway car, Harold hesitated with the key long enough to prompt the machine.<p>

"_Release Root. She is essential._"

Root was lying on the fairly dirty floor, instead of on the cot right beside her, having an animated conversation with persons unseen, oblivious to Harold's presence. The conversation had recently taken a furious turn and she was more agitated, and therefore dangerous, than usual.

"You have yet to inform me how I am going to control her," he replied, eyeing Root with growing unease.

"_You will not._"

Before he could respond to that disheartening comment the machine continued with, "_I will_."

Finally he clued in. "Oh I see." He stood up and went in search of Root's old ear piece. It would have taken a few minutes to locate amongst all their clutter but the machine pinpointed its whereabouts instantly. When he came back she was still babbling away to herself, making it easy enough to put the ear piece in.

There was a bit of a delay before Root lurched upright, even more crazed and dishevelled looking, if such a thing were even possible. They hadn't exactly been able to bathe her these past couple of months. If she were out on the streets she would have blended in perfectly with the homeless. Perhaps she smelled better though.

"It's you," she said quietly, awestruck.

The level of clarity on her face surprised Harold and made him feel guilty for taking away the machine in the first place. Just like her previous incarceration, he had thought it for the best. Root was simply too unpredictable to be left alone with such a powerful toy in her current state.

After some moments of stunned silence she looked to Harold. "Yes, of course."

"_Release Root."_

"What are you waiting for, Harold," said Root with a smirk. "Do as the lady says."

He was a bit peeved that the machine was cutting off the conversation where he was concerned but other than becoming petulant, there was little he could do about it. So he did as the lady said.

* * *

><p>They were marched and pushed along through the Decima complex until they had reached the heart of it. In a dimly lit, yet large open space, an enormous screen flashed out at them. Many operators were busy typing away on surrounding computers. An elderly man had his back turned to them, apparently speaking with no one.<p>

Reese had seen that profile before.

The urge to try and break free, to kill the man, and smash everything here was strong, even if it wouldn't accomplish anything, even if it got himself killed. Only his military restraint kept him at bay. Fusco just seemed beyond confused about what was occurring. John didn't blame him. He wasn't really sure himself.

"Mr. Reese," said Greer facing him. "And Mr. Fusco. Homicide detective extraordinaire." Greer gave him a pointed look. "That wasn't always the case though, was it?"

"Cut the crap, Greer," said Reese. "What do you want with us? Why are we here?"

"Straight to the point as always. As you wish, Mr. Reese." Greer gestured to the chairs nearby but neither deigned to sit. Shaw, Martine and several other agents stood watch. "It's quite simple really. The world is on the verge of great change. It is only a matter of time now before Samaritan bests your machine. I know this. You know this." He gave Fusco an amused look. "Well, perhaps _you_ don't." Fusco was still at a lose for words. Greer directed his attention back to Reese. "While you may think of Samaritan as an unfeeling God, the truth is, it is also a supremely merciful one. That is why after all the trouble you have caused it, you are here...and not six feet under."

"Kinda wish I was," retorted Reese. "Better than listening to your speeches."

Greer's tired old eyes flashed briefly, merrily. "You have a choice before you, Mr. Reese. Mr. Fusco. Just as Miss Shaw did." At the mention of her name, he cocked his head to glare at her. She looked at him passively. "Pledge your allegiance to Samaritan, give up this foolhardy quest for vengeance, and you may live. Refuse, and suffer the consequences."

"If you think I'd ever even _consider_ joining your ranks, you're crazier than you look."

Martine reached for her gun but Greer gestured for her to stop. "This is a tall order I know. I will give you some time to discuss this decision with your partner." Fusco seemed dazed. "Amongst other things." He smiled. "It would be a shame to needlessly lose such talent as yourselves. Our new world order will be needing it."

* * *

><p>Apparently there wasn't a horrible rush to rescue their comrades. The machine had told Root to go take a shower and put on a change of clothes. Since there were no such facilities in the subway station, they had been led to a woman's apartment not currently in use.<p>

"Ah, much better," sighed Root as she came out of the bathroom in nothing more than a short towel, running her hands through her damp hair like she was starring in a conditioner commercial.

Harold was taken aback to see her in such a state, especially considering he did have the occasional feeling towards her. For all her craziness, she _was_ very brilliant and attractive, that couldn't be denied, and he _hadn't_ exactly entertained a woman in many years. He was no John Reese who could walk into a bar and take any one of the women there home with him. But of course he knew nothing like that would ever happen between them. Root was far too infatuated with someone else to ever notice him in that capacity. Besides, no matter what his body felt for Root, his heart would forever belong to Grace. And as far as he was concerned that was much more important.

She noticed him watching her but didn't say anything. Just smirked. The thought crossed his mind that The Machine had also made a comment about him looking a little too long and he was subsequently embarrassed. Then she headed into the woman's bedroom and dropped the towel without a second thought. He blushed. The door was not sufficiently closed and Harold quickly averted his gaze, but not before getting an eyeful.

"What do you think?" he heard her say.

"Pardon me?" he choked out, blushing even harder, doing his best not to look again, half thinking she was asking him to appraise her naked body.

"Oh, yes, you're right. That will look much better on me."

Some logic returned to him and he understood that she hadn't been talking to him at all.

This arrangement is going to become very tedious, very quickly, he thought.

A little while later, Root emerged sporting her usual dark blouse and jacket, tight jeans and high heels. Even wet, her hair was more orderly than he had seen it in months and she wore make-up for the first time since the incident, further enhancing her natural beauty. By all accounts she appeared to be just as sane as she ever was. The question was, how much longer could the machine maintain control? He knew sooner or later the other voices would assert dominance again and then he would be in big trouble. Harold had no allusions about this eventuality.

He just prayed they could complete this paramount mission before then...or all was lost.

* * *

><p><strong>I can't recall if Fusco knows about the Machine or Samaritan. I apologize if I got that part wrong.<br>**

**Anyway, hope you guys are enjoying this so far. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

"You wanna tell me what's going on now, partner?" barked Lionel after they were escorted into a small windowless room, without furniture or any amenities. The only thing present was a camera in the upper right corner, red light on, watching...watching. "What the hell was that guy going on about? What's Samaritan?"

Reese continued to survey the area with the hopes of discovering some structural weakness that he could punch his way through. There wasn't any of course.

"Hey, man, talk to me!" Lionel demanded, grabbing his arm, turning him around so that they were facing each other.

By now he figured Lionel deserved the truth. It was surprising actually that he had put up with all of the secrecy for so long. Only the truly loyal could do that. Nice to know _some_ people were still capable of that.

This discussion would likely take awhile so Reese decided to get comfortable. Since there was no place to sit except for the cold ground, he settled for leaning against the concrete wall, his back to the camera, arms folded.

"Samaritan is an A.I. The government has been duped into using it for Research. Greer gives them just enough info to take out the terrorist threats." Reese almost smiled. Almost. "Or at least what they _claim_ are terrorist threats."

"Holy hell," replied Lionel, even more wide eyed than before. "You mean that surveillance shits real? I always thought it was just a crack pot conspiracy theory!"

"The people we help...the numbers we receive are from an earlier A.I. called The Machine."

"Real creative name."

"Finch built it."

"Well, that explains it." Fusco chuckled, shaking his head. "What, is it supposed to be like Frankenstein's monster or something? Never even bothered to give his creation a real goddamn name?"

Reese didn't respond.

Seeing his stony expression, Lionel became serious again and processed these revelations for a bit. "Wait, so Northern Lights was something Finch was involved with?"

"Yup."

He still seemed confused. "But if the government already had big brother under their control, why'd they switch to Samaritan?"

"You mean besides that whole scandal going down?"

"Oh yeah, almost forgot about that." Lionel rubbed his furrowed brow in a circular motion. "If it caused them a monster headache like I got right now, why'd they take up another A.I.?"

"Finch crippled The Machine. Made it impossible to get complete access. Samaritan offered that to them."

"Except it didn't. Again."

"Yeah, but they don't know that. They think _we're_ the terrorists."

Incredulous, "How are any of you still alive then? You got some Harry Potter invisibility cloak I don't know about?"

"Harry Potter?" said Reese with a lip curl, contempt written all across his face like Alan Rickman.

_Where are all these pop culture references coming from all of a sudden?_ he thought_.  
><em>

"What?" Lionel said shrugging. "Lee loves that crap." He chuckled again. "Especially that dumbass Quidditch game. Pretends to fly around on a broom with his friends all the time. Wish he'd just use it to clean the apartment. It's filthy!"

They just stared at each other for several moments.

"Cover identities, Lionel, cover identities."

"So _that's_ why you suddenly got the urge to join the-"

Just in time, Reese's eyes flashed in warning. Then he nudged his head slightly towards the camera. Lionel cleared his throat, apologetic looking. "Shoulda known it was something like that." After a brief pause he threw his hands up. "I still don't get what's going on."

Reese sighed. "Samaritan and The Machine are battling for dominance of the city...of the world."

Stunned silence and then:

"So...if Samaritan wins we're all screwed? That about sums it up?"

Reese nodded. "That's all you really needed to know."

"Thanks for filling me in anyway."

He shrugged. "Sure thing, Lionel." As cheerfully as he ever sounded, "We'll probably be dead before the day is out."

"Not if we join them." Reese just glared at him, too furious to respond. Lionel turned his back to the camera too and hunched up beside him. "We don't have to _mean_ it partner," he whispered. "We just need to _say_ we're with them..."

_Yeah like that will really work_, he thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"...until we can figure a way out of here. I bet that's what Shaw is up to too."

"Not likely," he replied, still glowering. "Her cover was blown. She was tired of sitting on the sidelines, letting me handle everything. It's probably why she threw herself into the line of fire. Wanted to go down in a blaze of glory. Too bad it didn't work."

"Come on, Reese, we both know that's _not_ why she did it."

In response, Reese made a non-committal sound and crossed his arms even tighter to his chest, as if he could squeeze all of his rage out that way.

"I don't care why she did it. Or what you think she's up to. I'm _not _joining them."

The camera light blinked, watching...watching.

* * *

><p>With surprising ease Root discreetly broke into the blue Toyota Prius before them. Vaguely Harold wondered just how many vehicles she had boosted since becoming The Machine's primary asset and how many individuals' hard earned money had been destroyed shortly thereafter.<p>

She grinned at him and said, "She says I drive."

"Did you?" he asked The Machine, with a frown.

"_Negative._"

Root pouted. "Oh come on! I've been chained up like an animal for months!" A passing pedestrian gave them an odd look but kept on walking into the night, albeit with hurried steps. A lengthy pause later, "_Fine_."

She stepped away from the drivers side and he sat down there in her stead. Harold fumbled around for a few minutes before he managed to get the engine running. The Machine apparently didn't want to help him. Root just sat there in sullen silence. It was many lights before conversation resumed.

"Ms. Groves," he began tentatively. "About your incarceration...I was loathe to do such a thing to you after you've been of such valiant assistance to our cause...but we could determine no other course of action."

"No need to explain, Harold," she said, staring out the window at the twinkling building lights. "I understand completely why you found it necessary."

He found that hard to believe.

Root pivoted, facing him. "My friends here" - she tapped her forehead - "became a little too vocal. Made me a very bad house guest."

"You are aware of the voices right now?" he enquired, grip tightening on the wheel.

He had hoped that would not be the case for some time yet.

"Of course, Harold," she replied with a sly smile. "Kind of hard to completely block them out when they are screaming at you."

_Oh God._

"One of them is particularly foul mouthed and violent. Big fan of disembowelment." Root raised a hand to her face and whispered conspiratorially, "She's my favourite."

_Oh God. Oh God. Oh God._

"Don't worry," she continued in a teasing manner. "She's got my back. We'll _probably_ get the boys out of there before I try to kill you again. _Probably_."

"_Probably_," echoed The Machine.

Root laughed.

Harold quietly hyperventilated.

After her merriment subsided she put a hand to her stomach and said, "You know, Harold, I could really go for a nice juicy burger. Or several. Feel like I haven't eaten in weeks!"

"I don't doubt it, Ms. Groves. It was quite difficult to tend to your dietary needs." He was ashamed to say that his next remark was fuelled more by a sense of his own impending doom than that of the others. "However, I'm sure we have wasted enough time as it is and as such-"

"_Feed Root._"

Harold groaned internally, beginning to feel queasy. Root clasped her hands together and exclaimed, "I think I'll get extra bacon!"

* * *

><p><strong>For the record, I'm not Harry Potter bashing. I love that stuff. This is simply what the characters would likely feel about it. Plus it was too funny to pass up.<strong>

**Anyone else think of 'I am Groot' with that last Machine command? No? Just me?**


	5. Chapter 5

**Time for a little action!  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em>Stab the bastard. Rip into his flesh and taste his blood. You know you want to. He chained you up like a goddamn animal. He deserves it, deserves to be butchered like the dog he is...what are you waiting for, you bitch? DO IT! DO IT NOW! <em>

"Ms. Groves?" asked a man's voice from very far away. "Ms. Groves, are you all right?"

Root blinked a couple of times and then focused on his face. The level of concern she saw there served to disquiet herself.

"Harold? What happened?"

His eyes darted to the fork in her hand. She was gripping it so tightly that her palm ached.

"You were muttering to yourself again," he replied, obviously very alarmed.

For all of his annoying righteousness, she did value him as a person and even cared for him a bit (if only because he created her God, the being currently acting as her salvation). Root didn't want to hurt him unnecessarily, _especially_ without her consent.

"Harold, I-"

Suddenly the world was on fire, skull in flames - almost as if an aneurism could induce infernos, instead of instant death - and she clutched her head, wincing, trying not to scream along with the demented voices doing their damnedest to consume her.

"Ms. Groves?!"

Thanks to Her, the agony left just as suddenly as it arrived, immediately replaced with determination and drive.

"_Is Root okay? Does Root need further assistance_?"

"I'm fine," she said shakily, her voice strangely small in her ringing ear. She reached across the table and grabbed hold of a startled Harold's arms. "Let's go. Before it's too late."

He didn't need further inducement.

"Cheque please!"

* * *

><p>"Have you come to a decision then?" enquired John Greer as they were led back into the control room.<p>

_As if you don't already know._

Reese and Fusco shared a look. "We're in."

"Excellent," replied Greer, a slight twinkle in his eye. He gestured to one of the analysts and the young Indian man hurried over with an odd, kinda futuristic looking helmet.

Muscles tensing, Reese unconsciously strained at the plastic tie binding his wrists together like iron. Someone from behind, probably Shaw, forced him into one of the chairs he had refused earlier. The pressure never left as the man placed the surprisingly light helmet on his head and hurried back to his fellow computer nerds.

"What are you doing to him?!" demanded his loyal follower, one of the nameless agents holding on to his arm to keep him in place.

"No need to fear, Mr. Fusco, your companion will not be harmed. But as I'm sure you are well aware, certain precautions need to be taken in order to ensure your sincere devotion to Samaritan." Greer smiled at him faintly through the increasingly opaque visor. "I've been told this procedure is quite painless."

The panic began to take hold and he instinctively tried to rise out of his seat. The pressure to his shoulder became even more vice like.

_Definitely Shaw. The bitch._

The visor's screen flashed a couple of times, words blurring past almost faster than he could read them. And then, just like that, it was finished and the helmet was promptly removed.

_What the hell?_

Greer looked to his analysts. "Well?"

They shook their heads. "Sorry, sir, the subject was lying."

_Did that __thing__ just read my mind? _he thought incredulously, staring at the enormous screen.

"Hardly surprising," said Greer, focusing back on him. "Samaritan calculated the odds of your sincere defection at less than two percent." He looked slightly passed him. "A number significantly lower than our agent Shaw here." Reese stiffened against her traitorous touch. "And yet, Samaritan thought you valuable enough to afford you one last chance to come to your senses, improbable as it seemed."

Greer turned to Fusco. "I dare say there is little point in repeating the analysis with you as well, detective, is there?"

Lionel looked between him and their evil overlord and then cast his eyes downward.

"I thought so."

There was a tense silence, at least on his part. He decided to break it. "Get on with it, Greer. We all know what comes next." He almost grinned, "Just spare me the speech."

Greer observed him quietly for several moments. Was that pity he saw? Or regret?

"As you wish, Mr. Reese."

The old man signalled to someone behind him and he felt the pressure removed from his shoulder. Next came the sound of a gun being unholstered.

"Hey, hey, wait a minute!" yelled Lionel, doing his best to break free...and what? Come to his aid while still handcuffed in a room full of unfriendly fire?

_No, this is over my friend_, he thought, with a pang of despair. _Our struggle is at an end._

"Let's just talk about this for a second! You don't have to do this!"

"I'm afraid I do, Mr. Fusco, I'm afraid I really do."

The next second alarms were going off all over the place from the various computers, startling a great number of the agents and analysts alike...oh and Lionel. Greer seemed unperturbed, as if he were expecting this. His next words confirmed it.

"They're late," he said. "Martine, please deal with our guests."

_Guests? As in plural? Finch, you idiot, did you bring that psychopath with you?_

Reese barely paid attention as the blonde devil and a group of agents left the premises, guns drawn. All of the despair from the previous moment vanished and he became his stony, military self again. He needed to figure a way out of this mess, and fast, so he could go save his team, demented as it may be. It seemed Lionel shared his intent and after a second of nonverbal cues, his partner headbutted the guy holding him, eliciting a loud yelp. In the same instant Reese smashed his plastic ties against the back of his chair and whirled around to face his destroyers. Five guns were trained on him but he only took notice of one.

Without batting an eye Shaw fired into his left thigh, but it had no effect whatsoever on him, his movements not slowed in the slightest. Sure the pain seared like a bitch, but no worse than the one before him.

"No, leave him! Agent Shaw must prove her worth."

She got another shot off into his lower abdomen before he reached her, grabbing hold of her scrawny wrist and wrenching it sideways. In the moment after he disarmed her, she socked him a good one across the jaw, and he staggered back onto his bad leg. The pain pushed his adrenaline through the roof and as she attempted to retrieve her gun, he threw himself at her, heavily knocking her fragile frame to the ground.

Before he had a chance to pummel her stupid face too much she kicked him in the back with a heavy boot, and instinctively he reached behind himself to prevent the next spine tingling blow. That's when she slammed an open fist into his nose. Blood gushed out everywhere, and nearly blinded by the pain, he was unable to stop her when she landed another bone cracking jab to the exact same spot on his jaw.

Reese fell off of her, clutching his face, and she launched herself into a crouched position, like a panther, awaiting its injured prey's next move, eager to make the kill.

"That the best you got?" she taunted, with a smug smile, her face gruesomely covered in his own blood. "Told you you've gotten sloppy."

_Yeah, 'cause this was totally a fair fight_.

Beginning to feel sluggish from blood lose, he knew he had to finish this battle sooner rather than later. The fastest way would of course be to shoot her...but unfortunately there were no guns to be had. During this quick survey, he noticed Lionel lying unconscious, still handcuffed, a few feet away. At least, he assumed this because there were no bullet holes in him.

Fearing more for Lionel's life than his own - he had a son after all - Reese forced himself to his feet, Shaw matching his ascent exactly, deadly serious eyes never leaving his.

"Ready for round two? Or do you need a moment, pumpkin?"

"You're going down this time, Shaw." The words came out thickly, like he had a bad cold.

"Cracking jokes _too_, Reese?" she replied. "My guess is you've got a minute tops before you pass out from shock." She smirked, "Or my fist. No way you're taking me down that fast."

_We'll see about that._

He threw a punch that she easily blocked, and in the same motion socked him in the side, just inches away from the oozing wound there. While her arms were otherwise occupied, he returned the favour and whammed her in the stomach with as much mustard as his good knee could give. To his satisfaction she groaned and glared at him (well more so than usual). And so began a back and forth struggle for power - some blows making contact, most blocked, and doubly returned - until his head was spinning and he could hardly keep to his feet.

"Nighty night, darling," she said with a final uppercut to the chin, putting him out of his misery.

* * *

><p><strong>I wonder if we'll ever get a ShawReese confrontation in the show? That'd be pretty epic I bet!**

**Edit: Well I guess I don't need to wonder since it DID already happen in S2. :p**


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay, this gets pretty gory pretty fast so I'm giving this chap an M rating. Squeamish beware!  
><strong>

* * *

><p>With The Machine's assistance they were able to set off multiple decoy alarms throughout the Decima complex. Even so, there were cameras everywhere here and given the slightest error in movement, Samaritan could easily pinpoint their location to its agents. For awhile, with The Machine's guidance, they were able to allude capture or worse as they traversed the labyrinthine building. But then an unfortunate event transpired that put a firm end to their relative safety.<p>

It was utterly devastating.

The Machine could operate at unfathomable speeds, using millions of processors to run hundreds of thousands of simulations in a matter of seconds. In essence it was the ultimate multi-tasker, a behemoth of technological ability. But even The Machine had its limits. It wasn't long before Samaritan's increasingly devious tactics served to trip up The Machine's constant countermeasures. And then, in a desperate bid to regain dominance (and if not that, then at least equilibrium) it informed them it would no longer be able to provide it's services. It needed to divert all resources to this one essential task.

Harold was terrified.

With The Machine gone, not only would they be unable to avoid the swarm of Samaritan agents no doubt heading their way, but Root would now be at the mercy of her inner demons. Almost as soon as The Machine left her Harold was aware of the change. Her movements became more hesitant, confused, and then she stopped moving altogether.

"Ms. Groves," he urged, albeit quietly. "Ms. Groves, we must keep moving or we will surely be apprehended."

She didn't seem to be hearing him so he cautiously touched her shoulder. The murderous look she gave him made him quail in fright.

"You damn dog," she said. "Damn mutt."

Root advanced on him, pushing him into the wall and then...an expected saviour (of sorts) arrived. The lead Samaritan agent walked up to them, pistol at the ready.

"Targets acquired. Permission to eliminate?...Roger that."

She smiled as she took aim at Root. Root glowered at her in such a menacing way that even the soulless Martine seemed slightly perturbed.

"So sorry you'll never get to see your beloved Shaw again."

As if Root hadn't cracked enough, the mention of her former colleague and love interest completely set her off. That single word triggered horrors untold.

Root flung herself at a startled Martine, (taking a bullet in the shoulder as she did so) and then proceeded to bite her face!

_Oh God!_

Harold was stupefied as the agent writhed around on the ground, gun completely forgotten, screaming bloody murder as Root continued to attack her like a rabid animal. He knew he should attempt to put a stop to it, but it was several moments before he found the courage to intervene.

"Ms. Groves, stop!" he commanded, attempting to pry her off of the now hideously mutilated woman. "Stop right now!"

She glared up at him, blood and flesh dripping from her mouth, an image right out of a zombie horror movie.

Harold didn't fancy having his face ripped off so he hightailed it out of there...directly into the path of two more Samaritan agents.

They grabbed hold of him, one on either arm and he struggled madly against them, desperate to get out of Root's diabolic reach.

"What was all that screaming about?" one of them asked him, with a hint of worry in his stoic eye.

"Run, for God's sake run!" he yelled, straining tremendously with every word.

"Let's find out, shall we?" said the other, a bland looking brunette.

They dragged him back towards the monster. Martine was no longer screaming. She was no longer moving either. At least half her face was missing.

"What the hell?!" they both exclaimed almost in the same instant.

"Kill the psycho bitch!" ordered the man.

Both of them were taking aim and in that moment Harold's loyalty trumped his fear. He flung himself backwards, catching his captors off balance, and all three of them fell towards their doom.

Before either agent could recover, Root was on them, clawing at their faces, biting their necks; in short, wreaking havoc in a most disturbing fashion. In the ensuing chaos, Harold was scratched up a bit himself, but by far the worst of her demented rage was directed towards the agents. While she was still busy attacking them, he made another bid for freedom, crawling over the brunette's now seizing leg as he did so, grabbing her scattered weapon.

_Unnecessary precaution indeed!_

As soon as he was upright he ran as fast as his broken spine would allow.

* * *

><p>When Lionel finally came to, face pressed uncomfortably against the freezing concrete, he really wished he hadn't. He watched as Shaw knocked his partner out cold and then went over to get her pistol.<p>

_The bitch is gonna do it, _he thought dumbfounded_. I can't believe this bullshit!_

As she approached a battered and bleeding Reese, Lionel detected a limp and was glad she got a little of what was coming to her.

"Hey, Miss Congeniality!" he yelled, attempting to manoeuvre himself into a sitting position and failing. "Shaw, you traitorous bitch, over here!"

At first he didn't think she heard him, or if she did, was just plain ignoring him, but then she glared over there with flashing shark eyes.

"What are you _doing_, Shaw!? We're your goddamn friends! You don't shoot your goddamn friends!"

"You're not my friend, Lionel," she said calmly. "Never were."

Without warning she shot right beside his head. Though he nearly shat himself, he recovered his nerve soon enough and continued to verbally abuse her, making sure to be as colourful as he could.

This time she didn't respond and instead aimed at Reese's head.

Lionel's stomach clenched painfully as he awaited the fatal blow.

The seconds ticked by, blood continuing to leak out of Reese's various wounds, and still she hadn't pulled the trigger.

"I'm waiting, Agent Shaw," said Greer, a tiny bit of impatience...and something else coming through in his voice. Was it fear?

Another few seconds passed. "Shaw, finish this. Now. Or I will."

_Yup, the geezer is definitely afraid of something. What gives? I thought the guy was a stone cold fox?_

A short while later a combination of gunshots and horrific screaming could be heard from somewhere nearby. Everyone froze in place as the screaming got louder and louder...

"Don't just stand there!" yelled Greer, a bit wild eyed. "Go attend to that!"

The agents shared an unnerved look and then did as they were bade. However, before they had gotten half way across this vast control room, someone burst in, yelling obscenities, firing indiscriminately into the crowd with pinpoint accuracy.

Now Lionel was glad to be on the floor and away from the crazed lunatic downing all the agents in sight. He was glad when Shaw was hit too as she dove for cover behind one of the computer terminals, though it did serve to trigger an unpleasant flashback to the stock market basement.

Eventually Root ran out of bullets but kept on firing anyway. That is until Shaw spoke up.

"I think they're all dead," she said gruffly, clutching her own arm. "Why'd you shoot me too, Root?...Root?"

In response Root released an impressive string of foul mouthed abuse, almost as impressive as his own not two minutes before. Shaw and Lionel shared a puzzled look.

When Root was closer, things became much clearer and they both recoiled in horror.

"Holy shit!" boomed Lionel. "Is that _skin_ hanging out of her mouth?!"

"I don't intend to find out," replied Shaw, taking aim. "When dog's go rabid you gotta put them down. Hesitate and it's all over."

So saying she hesitated, and then Root was upon her. When the nutball tried to bite her, Shaw knocked her back and then swept her legs, sending her crashing to the ground. Shaw jumped on top of her, pinning her deadly and blood clogged claws above her head with one hand while ripping off a part of her shirt and using it as a gag with the other, nearly losing two fingers in the process.

"Crap, she's strong," said Shaw, struggling to keep Root in check. "What the hell happened to her?"

For once she had sounded like a human being, instead of a freaking robot and Lionel decided to fill her in.

"That Cuckoo left the nest after you were gunned down." Lionel eyed Root with disgust and pity. "But this is a whole new level of Cocoa Puffs!"

Shaw bit her lip as she processed this information and for once Lionel saw some real emotion there.

"Root!" she said loudly, slapping her across the face. "Root! Snap out of it!"

The next thing he knew she was jabbing her thumb into the hole in Root's shoulder, and he involuntarily winced. Needless to say Miss Crazy Pants didn't like that very much and thrashed around even more wildly than she had already been doing.

"I said," - slap- "snap" - slap- "out" – slap – "of it!"

"Uh," said Lionel, feeling oddly turned on, "I don't think that's working."

Shaw simply glared at him and drove her thumb back into the oozing wound. Root screamed bloody murder against the makeshift gag and then suddenly went limp.

"Well, that works too."

Shaw continued to straddle her for some time after that before determining it safe to get up. She ripped out some computer cables and secured the whackadoodle's arms and legs.

"Now what, Shaw?" he asked. "Gonna finish what you started?"

Expressionless again, she walked over to him and pulled out a knife.

* * *

><p><strong>Talk about rough foreplay. Just the way they like it. :p<strong>

**On a scale of 1-10, (10 being Monty Python silly) how silly was this chap? I feel like it's pretty up there.  
><strong>


	7. Chapter 7

** Haha, yeah that last chap was pretty ridiculous. But I figured I might as well go for broke if I was going to go down that road at all. Also toyed with the idea of it being a failed simulation but decided that was too much of a cop out. Anyway, things should be getting less insane from here on out. Which I guess is a good thing. :D**

* * *

><p>Sure he was about to kick the bucket, Lionel tried to squirm away from her, but didn't get very far before Shaw reached him. Then she knelt down and pinned him on his side, like she was about to skin him alive.<p>

"Hold still would you," she barked as he continued to be a bother. "Do you want me to slit your dumbass wrists or what?"

Some part of his logical brain kicked in. "You're gonna untie me?"

"Somebody's got to help me carry these two idiots out of here."

The moment he stopped struggling she sliced the plastic ties off and he immediately felt a painful, yet welcoming warmth spreading back into his fingertips. She pulled him upright, muttering something about laying off the burgers, and then she was in motion again, heading straight for Wonderboy, who was looking anything but.

Attacking her didn't seem like a good idea given what she did to his partner (he wasn't exactly Superman) but he didn't exactly trust her at the moment either and looked for a weapon to use.

She seemed to sense his intent before he even moved from his place.

"Don't even think about it Fusco," she said as she ripped out yet another computer cable and knelt down in Reese's growing pool of blood. The pool that she had created.

He watched as she fashioned a crude tourniquet above the worst of the bleeding on his left thigh. "That'll hold for now," she said, pushing herself up into a standing position, pants stained in a deep red. "Good thing I aimed away from the major arteries or he'd already be dead." Shaw looked to him, the usual indifference firmly in place. "Which one do you want to take?"

_Let's see, Miss Crazy Pants who'll probably wake up and try to bite my face off...or a hundred and eighty pounds of pure muscle._

Though his back was feeling close to kinking, he said, "Partner's stick together."

She nodded once, completely missing the intended irony, and went over to Root, hoisting the crazy lady up and over her shoulder like a roast pig, except instead of an apple in her mouth, there was a bloody and disconcerting gag.

Lionel didn't relish the idea of dragging Reese all the way through the complex but there weren't any other alternatives. The thing that bothered him the most though was having Shaw with the only weapon, protecting all of them as she saw fit...or didn't.

"What about that thing?" he asked, cocking his head towards the massive screen. "Shouldn't we destroy it or something?"

Shaw rolled her eyes, as if he had just suggested something incredibly stupid. "This is just the interface, Lionel, the actual hardware is scattered all across the country."

"How the hell we gonna beat it then?" he said incredulously.

"We aren't." She shifted Root slightly on her shoulder. "Now come on."

As they were slowly making their way out of the control room he looked for Greer amongst the analysts but didn't spot his body anywhere.

_Figures. Samaritan probably saved his hide just in the nick of time._

The sight just outside the control room was not pretty and nearly made those beers and nachos from the night club come up. Shot and mutilated bodies continued to litter the hallways at every turn.

"Root did all this?" muttered Shaw. "Impressive."

Not the word he would've used.

A thought occurred to him then.

_There's no way Cocoa Puffs made it here on her own._

"Hey, hold up a minute, Shaw."

She turned around to face him, clearly not in the mood to be stopping already. "Need to use the little boys room, Lionel?"

He ignored that as he stretched out his back. "The professor must be around here somewhere. We can't leave without him."

Shaw glared at him in response. "And what's your brilliant plan for finding him?"

"Call him up? Ask him where he is?"

"How? You don't have your cellphone and I don't know the latest encrypted code to reach him."

_Oh yeah._

An injured Samaritan agent stirred on the floor. She shot him without blinking, without barely even looking. Lionel jumped at the suddenness of the violence. At the same time he felt slightly more safe around her, shooting the enemy and all...for a change.

"Anyway, Reese needs a blood transfusion. And soon. We'll be lucky to get him to the med station alive at the rate you're moving." Lionel bristled but didn't retort because he knew it was true, even if it _was_ her fault. "We don't have time to go looking for Finch. Besides," she said carelessly, gesturing around at the two bodies nearest them, "if he was dumb enough to come in here with this psycho, he's probably already dead."

"You're a real piece of work, you know that?" he said with a scowl.

"Let's go," she said stonily. "And move your ass."

In near silence they headed down the next two hallways. A gung-ho agent greeted them in one and she seamlessly shot out his kneecap.

"You know where you're going?"

She didn't bother responding to that, just kept getting further and further ahead of him, ever vigilant for any more threats. He was doing his best to keep up even though his arms were searing.

"I can't figure you out, Shaw," he huffed. "One minute you're kicking the crap out of Reese, the next you're trying to save him."

"Your point?" she grunted, again shifting the weight of the wrapped up parcel on her shoulder.

"Well, who's side are you _really_ on? Team Machine or Team Samaritan?"

He didn't see the next eye roll but knew that it had occurred. "Would I be listening to your whiny ass if I didn't have to?"

_Fair enough._

Still, he didn't get her at all.

"If Root hadn't come along when she did...would you have done it? Killed him I mean."

She groaned and turned around to face him, "What's it going to take to get you to shut up?"

"The truth."

"Okay, Lionel," she said, advancing on him, "here it is. I joined Samaritan because it was the only way to save my team."

He blinked a few times in confusion. "Come again?"

"After they patched me up they said I had a choice. Come and work for them...or they'd persuade me to give up the location of HQ and everyone's cover identities." Lionel just stared at her. "Like I said before, it was a tactical decision."

"I don't remember that."

"Oh that's right," she said with the hint of a smile. "You were still taking a nap." Subconsciously Lionel touched the side of his head., feeling the dried blood there as he did so. The almost smirk vanished. "If you morons had just left well enough alone, Samaritan wouldn't have wanted to meet so badly and I wouldn't have had to do what I did."

"Sure, blame us for trying to save a friend."

Mid glare she looked past him and shot out two people from behind. They were still yelping when she said, "You got your truth. Now no more talking."

To his surprise she handed him her gun and then took hold of one of Reese's arms. They nodded at each other and together made swifter progress than before.

A minute or so after this they reached the elevator.

"It's two floors down. We're almost there."

_Couldn't you have helped me earlier?_ he irritatedly thought, wincing as his back spasmed again.

After kneecapping a few more agents on this new floor, they arrived at the state of the art medical centre.

The on-call doctor didn't look too pleased to see them there but when the gun was brandished in her face, she decided to do as she was told and attend to their friends.

"Keep an eye on the doors," Shaw told him, tossing him another gun she picked up from the last guy he downed. "We're bound to have more company sooner or later."

Then she grabbed some medical supplies, sat down on the nearest examination table and began prying the bullet out of her arm.

The doctor looked appalled. "Don't you want something to numb the pain first?"

"No," she replied with a strange smile, as the blood leaked down her bicep. "I like this sort of thing."

* * *

><p><strong>Shaw has such great chemistry with everyone. No wonder Lionel calls her Miss Congeniality. :p<strong>

**P.S. I can't believe they're making us wait until Feb for the next ep! Gah! :/  
><strong>


	8. Chapter 8

**Okay, time for a little Shoot. I can see why people like writing about them. Their dynamic is really fun and unusual. ;)  
><strong>

* * *

><p>With her arm bandaged and stinging just the way she liked it, she next turned her attentions to Reese.<p>

"How's he doing doc?"

The young blonde woman looked up from her own bullet extraction procedure and made a face. "Hard to say. He's lost a lot of blood and his pulse is weak and erratic." Her features softened slightly. "But as far as I can tell there's no unaccounted for internal bleeding. All his vital organs seem intact."

"They should be. I was careful not to hit them."

"I don't understand," the woman said, looking perplexed. "Why would you-"

"Not important doc." Shaw's gaze fell to an unconscious agent on another examination table. His eyes had been jammed far into the sockets by 'someone's' thumbs. She should have felt horrified but she didn't. Still, commenting seemed like the thing to do. "Shit, Root really did a number on that guy."

The doc narrowed her eyes at Shaw and pursed her lips. "I thought so. You're the ones responsible for all this carnage, aren't you?"

Shaw gave her a stony look. "Yeah, we are, but you're still going to take good care of him." She placed a hand on the newly acquired gun in her holster. "Aren't you?"

They stared at one another for a long moment. It was then that Shaw became aware of just how uncomfortable the sticky blood still coating her face had become, and it was with a great effort that she didn't start scratching at it mid staring contest.

Finally the woman spoke. "No need for threats, _agent_. I took an oath to help those in need. It's not my place to discriminate who I tend to."

So saying, she commenced cleaning and bandaging Reese's various wounds, starting with the worst one in his thigh. After Shaw washed off the grime from her face, feeling markedly better afterwards, she did a quick survey through the two glass entrances on either side of the med centre. All seemed quiet. Even so, Fusco continued to keep a vigilant watch, one gun at the ready, the other that she had tossed him, tucked into his belt. Only one of their team preferred to go double barrelled into a fight.

With that thought in mind, Shaw looked towards the still bound and gagged Root. Root's entire body and face was covered in blood and gore, hair matted down and disgusting. Her partner had certainly seen better days and the idea that she herself was the cause of Root's (current) insanity didn't exactly make her feel all warm and fuzzy. Not that anything ever really did, except for maybe shooting people who deserved it. Oh and Bear catching a big fat rat and being all proud of himself.

She approached Root, dragging a swivel chair with more medical supplies on it as she did so. Putting the supplies aside, she sat down and got to work tending to the angry looking wound in Root's shoulder. Since Root was tied up at the moment, Shaw ripped Root's t-shirt collar a bit in order to gain better access. The scar from a previous injury was still fresh and painful looking.

"You keep getting shot there, Root, and you're going to be seriously messed up soon." She heard herself a second later and frowned. "I mean, more so than usual."

The doctor called her attention away from Root's deplorable mental and physical condition to enquire what Reese's blood type was. Shaw told her it was AB negative and then watched as the woman located the correct blood sac and hooked it up to the IV. Satisfied that Reese was being properly cared for, she directed her efforts back on her own patient.

As she retrieved the bullet, Root stirred a few times but didn't wake up. There were some other minor scratches and wounds that she sanitized with some fancy and likely expensive rubbing alcohol. Then once she was all patched up, Shaw filled a medium sized basin with lukewarm water and got to scrubbing off the gore from her friends exposed and unbound skin. Namely her hands, neck and face. It was impossible to get it all out from under her chipped fingernails, so it wasn't long before she gave up and focused on the other two areas.

While she cleaned up Root's face, (exposing various nasty looking bruises as she did so) Root stirred feebly again. This time her eyelids fluttered open. Before their eyes made contact, Shaw felt strangely apprehensive, and _not_ because she was afraid the psycho would try to attack her. Beneath the apprehension there was another sensation, something bizarre, that of guilt. It was an unpleasant, mostly alien feeling and she wished it would just go away. Why did she suddenly find herself with a conscience? Why did Root, a notoriously psychopathic individual, bring out Shaw's more human, compassionate side? (Root was no Cole, that was for sure). It didn't make any sense, and served to annoy her even more, so that by the time Root's eyes focused and found hers, she was in a bad mood again, like when Lionel wouldn't shut the hell up.

Just like with the doctor before, they simply stared at one another for a long moment. Within the first second it was obvious to Shaw that the monster was gone for the time being. The confusion and then immediate comprehension sent Root to squirming against her restraints, high pitched voice muffled from the gross gag.

Shaw licked her now dry lips, hesitating to remove it. Once she did she'd have to listen to Root's whiny ass going on about how she couldn't believe her eyes and how much she had missed her...and all that sentimental crap that chick flicks were so fond of and that Shaw avoided like heat seeking missiles.

Root scowled at her and made a very loud humph noise, and Shaw, tense muscles relaxing, just leaned back in her chair and smirked, savouring the moment for as long as she could. It wasn't often that Root was completely and utterly under her control, right where she wanted her, slave to her every whim..._what the hell is wrong with me? That's the sort of shit Root says._

When Root started to squirm again, Shaw finally pulled out the gag and tossed it in the garbage. The psycho smacked her lips together a few times and then made another face.

"I've got the most disgusting taste in my mouth. Be a doll and get me a glass of water?"

_Looks like I'm the slave again._

Shaw begrudgingly did as she was bade and held it out to her.

Bemusedly, "Unless you're going to untie me, sweetie, I don't know what you expect me to do with that."

_Ugh_, thought Shaw, trying not to roll her eyes but failing, _not the frickin' terms of endearment already._

Shaw moved in closer and tilted the glass to Root's weather beaten looking lips. Root took a large gulp, sloshed it around a bit and then swallowed, still with the same disgusted look across her face.

"What I really need is a mint or something." She smiled pleasantly at Shaw. "You wouldn't happen to have one on you, would you.._.honey_?"

Shaw just glared at her, grip nearly cracking the glass in her hand.

"Not very talkative I see. That's all right. We don't need to talk if you don't want to." She winked. "I can think of much more _agreeable_ things to do with you."

"_Don't_," she warned, closing her eyes, not in the least ready for innuendo's.

"Don't _what_, Sameen?" said Root innocently.

"You _know_ what," she barked, giving her a no nonsense look. "I don't want to hear any of that bullshit."

Root was positively beaming at her and Shaw struggled not to smile back a little. "I'm thrilled to find you just as charming as you ever were. I knew Samaritan was no match for my little Sammy."

Shaw got the distinct impression that if Root weren't tied up she would have squeezed her cheek like one of those idiotic relatives who have no common sense.

"Not to be insensitive or anything," she said, "but didn't you go crazy because you thought I was dead?"

Rather than be abashed by this comment, Root looked at her teasingly. "Oh, you've _always_ made me crazy, Sameen."

_Walked right into that one._

"I just meant," grunted Shaw, really irritated that her insensitive comment had backfired, "you don't seem particularly surprised to see me alive. And you aren't exactly acting crazy anymore. What gives?"

"Well, I have Her again," she said simply. Root grinned. "Now then...as much as I _love_ the thought of you tying me up," - Shaw stiffened - "do you think you could take these...computer cables off?" She caught Shaw's eye. "You did a very _thorough_ job."

"How do I know you won't go all postal on me again if I do? " _Or even worse, try to hug me?_ "You were harder to control than usual."

"Yes, I can see that," she replied, glancing down at the jagged edge of her torn shirt, where her partially exposed stomach was. Too slowly Shaw looked away from the bare skin, and Root's grin widened. Shaw concentrated on not throttling her. "I'll be fine as long as She stays with me. And since She's regained equilibrium with Samaritan, I don't think that'll be an issue for awhile."

"Define 'awhile', Root," Shaw said, unconvinced, arms crossed.

"Long enough to get out of here." Shaw still didn't move to release her and Root pouted. "Fine then, I'll just get Lionel to untie me."

"Good luck with that," she replied, smirking again. "He was way more freaked out by you than I was. Wouldn't come within ten feet of you if he could help it."

"You _did_ take very good _care _of me, didn't you?" Shaw glowered. "Thanks, sweetie."

For once she seemed sincere and Shaw was taken aback. "Don't mention it," she grumbled.

Root just continued to stare at her in that same genuine way and Shaw became increasingly antsy. She wasn't big on talking about feelings and dealing with all that emotional shit. So she distracted herself from Root's unflinching gaze by untying her - realizing later that that was precisely what Root had expected would happen.

Before she took off the wrist restraints she caught Root's eye and sternly said, "Don't even _think_ about trying to hug me. I will _end_ you."

Root smiled slyly and Shaw became suspicious of what was coming. "So you've said before." She half whispered near her ear, "I'm still eagerly awaiting that fateful day."

_Walked right into that one too._


	9. Chapter 9

_**Now for a little more action. I think this is the penultimate chapter...so get ready for this sorta crazy ride to come to an end. :D**_

* * *

><p>When she was free from her restraints, she imagined they were still there, and by so doing, just managed to stop herself from grabbing a hold of Sameen, who was mere inches away from her, like a long sought after apparition come to fruition. No matter what Shaw said, Root knew she wouldn't actually hurt her if she tried to touch her, but she wanted to be respectful of Shaw's wishes and not antagonize her further than she already had...at least not for awhile. Besides, Root knew she looked dreadful because she felt it, and that was <em>not<em> the way she wanted their first 'intimate' contact to be after all these months of separation. Granted, they hadn't _felt_ like months to her as she had been out of her mind for most of that time, but it didn't make their reunion any less special in her eyes. In short, she wanted their first contact to be perfect, (or as perfect could get where Shaw was concerned) so she would wait until they were in more favourable circumstances to hug and, she thought with a thrill, kiss her.

"What?" Shaw grunted nervously when Root continued to stare at her.

Root was about to respond when She whispered in her ear urgently, which is to say, in slightly higher pitched tones than usual.

"_Root is in danger. Assets must leave. Now._"

"They're coming," she said, swinging her legs over the side of the examination table. As she did so her injured shoulder throbbed horribly. She pushed the pain aside. There were more important things to deal with. "We've got to get out of here or we'll be trapped."

Shaw looked across the medical bay to where Reese lay. "His transfusion's not done yet."

"Doesn't matter," she replied, hopping off of the table, jarring her shoulder once more. She held out her good arm. "Give me a gun."

"Lionel's got an extra one," said Shaw after a moment's hesitation. "I'll get Reese."

The two women headed off in opposite directions after holding each others gaze for an extended second. They knew what was at stake. There could be no mistakes.

Lionel jumped when she spoke right behind him. "I heard you've got the goods."

He whirled around and gave her a wary look, finger on the trigger of his stolen weapon. "Shaw set you free, huh?"

"Yes, and now I need this," she said, swiftly pulling the gun out from under his belt.

Wide eyed, "Hey, hey, wait a minute, there's no way-"

Shaw showed up then, wheeling Reese on a gurney, her own gun drawn and at the ready. Lionel didn't argue further when the glass nearest them shattered and a high impact round exploded the far side of the medical bay, instantly killing the blinded agent. The blonde haired doctor, Caroline, shrieked and dove for cover. With precision aim, Root calmly shot the SWAT looking man lurking around the corner through his visor, and then stepped through the wreckage to deal with the next approaching, and according to Her, equally heavily armed assailants. Samaritan was pulling out all the stops, to well, put a stop to them once and for all. If it meant destroying their own headquarters in the process, then so be it. Just like the Stock Market Exchange, this would not be an easy fight.

Again she pushed aside the emotional pain and focused wholeheartedly on the task at hand, the other voices not getting any hold on her mind whatsoever. She cocked her head towards Lionel, who was just behind her and said, "I'm going to be needing the other one too."

He looked helplessly between the two of them and then with a sigh, handed over his only form of self protection. Shaw came over to her side, eager to join the fray, but she shook her head. "Stay here, Sameen."

The other woman looked like she would argue but then to her surprise didn't.

At the corner of the downed man, she waited for Her cue and then swiftly stepped out into a direct line of sight of her opponents, aiming low. They opened fire with M16's in almost the same instant, but she had hit both of them in the feet a fraction of a second earlier and their shots had gone ever so slightly astray, pounding into the wall right beside her face. Before they could recover and take aim again, she blasted them through their now exposed visors, one of the only truly vulnerable spots of their full body armour. They crumpled to the ground beside some other unconscious agents who had clearly been shot in the knees.

Already she could tell she was running low on ammo. There were maybe three rounds left in her right hand and five in the other. Apparently the agents on this floor had not had occasion to change the clips out in recent times. Probably because there weren't often shootouts in the medical area of a highly secure Dexima complex.

"How many more threats?"

"_Five. By the elevator."_

"And in total?"

"_Unknown._"

With a determined air, she dropped the pistols – hearing a male 'hey' from nearby - advanced forward and snatched up one of the M16's from her most recent victim. It had been modified to incorporate a much larger magazine than normal.

Root looked behind her and nodded to her team that the coast was clear. Shaw and Lionel wheeled out Reese, slowly navigating around the littered bodies as they approached. Root could see that Shaw had taken the first man's Desert Eagle, and laid it across Reese's feet.

"Nice shooting," said Shaw, clearly impressed. "Couldn't have done better myself."

With an air of a most aggrieved nature, Lionel stooped to retrieve his mostly useless pistols.

"Now what?" he asked.

"Now we suit up," replied Root.

"Oh, no!" he yelped. "The last time I did that,"- he jerked a thumb at Shaw - "this one shot me in the chest!" He touched the side of his head. "_And_ pistol whipped me! I'm going to have a headache for a week!"

"Don't be such baby, Lionel. I barely hit you."

Root ignored their bickering and started to remove the nearest agent's body armour. Soon enough they followed suit and within minutes they were as protected as they were going to be given the circumstances. The inside of the helmets were bloody and filled with bone and brain matter. They decided to forgo that part of their ensemble. The heavy vest dug into her tender shoulder and every step she took caused her to wince. But she never complained. There was no point.

The elevator was just around the next bend. Even with the three of them it would be suicide to try to take them head on as she had previously done. This was amply demonstrated when Lionel ducked his head around the corner and jerked back the next second, narrowly avoiding his head being blown off by a barrage of bullets.

"Can't believe those guys didn't have any grenades or flashbangs on them," he said, obviously shaken. "That'd come in real handy right about now."

Shaw appeared to have the solution. She held up the Desert Eagle, smirking and said, "It's been ages since I used this baby. It'll slice through their armour like butter."

"Yes," returned Root, "but there's only maybe nine rounds left." _And you won't get any clean shots off._ "I have a feeling we'll be needing them more later on."

"What do you suggest we do then?" glowered Shaw, crestfallen at not getting to use her new toy right away. "The elevator's the only way out."

Root held up the M16. "We'll just have to keep firing until we take them all out."

And so began a tedious back and forth volley of gun fire. Well, not _so_ tedious. Shaw stood _very_ close beside her every time they blindly took aim. In fact, her body was practically shoved into Root's for nearly two minutes. She knew this was no time to be smiling, but she couldn't help it. Having Sam so near at hand during a gunfight was just like old times, and she wished more than ever that they could be alone somewhere more private. However, Lionel ruined the moment by switching places with Shaw when she went to reload. Root couldn't help but notice how much like a sweaty man he smelled and it briefly crossed her mind to 'accidentally' nudge him into the on coming fire. Before this impulse could take hold, and with Her help, she was eventually able to shoot down one of them. But as soon as that happened, the other four began to approach.

"They're going to swarm us!" warned Root. "We've got to retreat!"

So saying, Shaw (who was the closest) grabbed the opposite end of the gurney and they rushed to take cover wherever they could find it...which was back around the previous bend. Going into one of the rooms along this hallway would simply trap and destroy them.

They were barely around the bend before the gun fire started again. Almost back to where they started now, Lionel and Shaw quickly carried the gurney over the bodies while Root acted as rearguard. Then a crazy idea came to her. She dropped to the ground, grabbed the two nearest bodies to her and covered herself with them. Now all she had to do was lie in wait. Once they were passed her, she could simply take them out at her (relative) leisure.

The heavy footfalls approached and she held her breath as they went by.

"_Now_," came the voice in her ear.

She shoved one of the bodies aside and shot at the back of the nearest man's kneecap (which had little armour). As he stumbled and fell, she did the same thing to the next guy. They both hit the ground hard, clutching their legs. The two agents in front had already rounded the final bend during the assault but then whirled around at the noise and went looking for the source. By the time they did, Root had already covered herself back up with the body...but not well enough. She realized too late that part of the M16 was exposed.

The Machine went haywire. "_Root is in danger. Root is in danger._"

They started to shoot at her right through the bodies of their fallen comrades. Once more she was getting covered in gore, but there was nothing for it. If she tried to move she would surely take a bullet to the head. It was a miracle she hadn't already.

The protection from the bodies was almost gone and she was getting directly hammered now. Even with the body armour it stung like a bitch and she knew she couldn't withstand much more. Just when she recklessly decided to go out swinging, (if only to give Sam a shot at escaping) there came two very loud shots, followed by two more.

All was silent for several seconds and then she felt the weight of the devastated bodies pulled from her own. Shaw looked down at her, Desert Eagle still smoking and grinned, "How many times do I got to save your ass?"

_That is so hot_, thought Root, grinning back stupidly.


	10. Chapter 10

"That had to be one of the dumbest things you've ever done," Shaw said as she helped Root up, bits of dead guy sloshing off of her suit. "And you've done a _lot_ of dumb things."

Feeling disgusting again, Root wiped her face cleaner before replying. "Perhaps. But you came charging in to rescue me." Having narrowly avoided certain death once more, she was practically giddy and in the mood for teasing. "Were you worried for my safety, Sameen?"

Shaw was not about to admit this but also wasn't going to back down. "You wish, you psycho." Roots idiotic smile widened in an idiotically annoying way. Shaw scowled, deflecting further, "Well, what are we standing around for? Let's get the hell out of this death trap."

Root was tickled by just how much Shaw pretended not to care.

_I feel the same way, honey._

Finally they all made it to the elevator. Before pressing the call button Root said, "Is the coast clear?"

"_Negative. Assailants mobilizing on every available level. Assets will be eliminated upon departure from elevator."_

"Bad news, huh?" said Lionel, vocalizing Shaw's own interpretation of Root's sour expression.

Root ignored this useless comment. "Suggestions?"

"_Gain administrative privileges to rooftop. Utilize helicopter to evacuate successfully._"

"Okay," she said slowly, "and how do I do that from _here_? This isn't exactly command central."

The response was cryptic and something she had never heard before from Her. "_Reacquiring asset number one._"

There was a short delay and then Harold's anxiety ridden voice came over the line. "Ms. Groves? I hear you are in need of assistance."

"I'm so glad I didn't kill you," she replied, genuinely meaning it, and _not_ just because he was their only ticket out of there.

"Is that the professor?" butted in Lionel, with yet another pointless comment.

God, she would hate to be stuck around him all day. No wonder Shaw couldn't stand him.

"And I as well, Ms. Groves." The sound of something heavy scrapping across the floor. Root assumed he had barricaded himself somewhere safe while she had wreaked havoc. "The Machine will guide me to a secure control terminal. I should be able to bypass enough protocols to gain rooftop access."

"Let's hope so."

She looked to Shaw who shared her unwavering gaze.

_Or else we're screwed._

Shortly after she filled them in on their escape route.

"Sounds good to me," said Lionel, with a smile. "I've been shot at enough for one night." He hooked a thumb towards John. "Pretty sure he'd agree with me too." He gave a pointed look at Shaw but she was too busy giving a mournful look to the Desert Eagle to see.

About a minute later, "All right. I'm here." A swivel chair wheeled briefly and then came the clattering of a keyboard. As Harold worked his magic, she watched as Shaw admired and played with the Eagle.

Stifling a laugh, _She acts the same way with Bear._

Apparently Shaw liked anything with a bit of a bang to it. Root grinned at the idea. She could definitely provide more than a little bang for Sam. If only she'd let her near enough to find out...

Root's increasingly scattered thoughts were interrupted by the smelly detective getting in her personal space.

"You okay there, Root?" he said, waving a hand in front of her eyes. "Not going all _Carrie_ on us again, are you?"

Shaw was still too distracted by the Eagle to show any concern by such questions. Not that she would have even if she had heard.

"Fine," she said icily, as a somewhat erotic image of a raven haired beauty evaporated from her minds eye, "I'm fine."

"Geez, I just asked a question. No need to go all Elsa on me."

"Enough with the pop culture references!" she snapped. "Nobody even likes that Lion King rip off anymore!"

This time Shaw glanced over to give her a questioning look but Root just ignored it. After a bit of an awkward silence, "There," said Harold. "I believe that should do it."

"Thank you, Harry."

"I would advise swift action, Ms. Groves. It is uncertain how long Samaritan will allow my override commands."

Team Machine hurried into the spacious elevator, wheeling the still unconscious, but stabilized Reese in with them. Shaw was about to touch the topmost button when Lionel stopped her. Root was just about ready to shoot him at this point.

"What about Finch?" said Lionel. "How's he supposed to join us if all the elevator entrances are suicidal?"

For once he hadn't asked a stupid or pointless question. Root repeated this query to Her, embarrassed she hadn't thought to ask it earlier herself.

"_Asset number one cannot join Root._"

She told the others this. To her (and Lionel's) surprise it was Shaw who became the most indignant. However, their confusion was short lived.

"No one's getting left behind," she said stonily. "Not _this_ time."

"You're right of course," said Root after a somber silence in which she tried to catch her eye but failed. "What floor is he on?"

"_Asset number one cannot join Root._"

"Is it the same floor we entered on?"

"_Asset number one cannot join Root._"

"Look," she said petulantly, having her first fight with Her, "we're going after Harold whether you like it or not! So, if you want me to survive, figure a way for us to reach him without getting mowed down!"

"If I may interject..." said Harold, clearing his throat. "The Machine is quite right. I cannot join you on the rooftop."

"We're not leaving-"

"I _can_ however leave the same way we came in, Ms. Groves. I believe the Prius will still be parked where we left it."

_Damn you, Lionel_, she thought aggravated to no end, giving him a death glare, _making me look stupid and childish to Her._

"Now," he continued, "I strongly suggest you make your way up. Samaritan will undoubtedly be initiating countermeasures to my tampering any moment now. Once it does, I will surely be locked out and of no further assistance to you."

Root nodded to Shaw who finally pressed the topmost button. They all held their breaths as they smoothly ascended to the rooftop. Three quarters of the way up the elevator jerked several times and they feared they would be unceremoniously blasted through the doors. Thankfully it appeared to just be a minor glitch as after a few seconds of indecision it continued to rise the rest of the way.

Though the first rays of the morning sun were coming out to greet them, a couple of stars could still be seen in the sky. Well, the same few that were ever present. The light pollution didn't exactly make star gazing a feasible option in New York City.

There were no cameras up here so She was effectively useless to them. Root and Shaw did a quick sweep of the place, coming across no one and nodding to Lionel to bring Reese over to the only available helicopter. Clearly there was space for another. Root had no doubt that Greer had evacuated himself hours ago to remotely direct his people from a safe distance from her.

While Shaw and Lionel loaded up and secured their injured comrade, Root got to starting the engine, only knowing what buttons to press because She was guiding her nimble fingers. Shaw hopped in beside her, putting on the headset so they could talk easily over the increasingly loud roar of the propellers.

"You know what you're doing?" she asked Root.

"I think so."

Shaw cocked an eyebrow. "Really encouraging, Root. I feel so safe in your capable hands." Root smirked at that and opened her mouth. Shaw realizing her error, glared at her. "_Don't_."

She chattered in her ear.

"_Multiple assailants approaching._"

"Time to go," she said, grabbing hold of the stick. Root pulled back slightly and they began to rise slowly...a little too slowly. They had yet to fully leave the premises when the rooftop access door burst open and at least ten agents poured through, all gunning for them.

Thankfully they were far enough away that they weren't immediately massacred. However, several bullets did make contact with the craft and one nearly smashed through the windscreen, right at her skull level. Shaw seeing this, pushed the passenger door open, and took careful aim with the Desert Eagle. She downed two agents in as many seconds. If it weren't for her body armour, she would have taken another few bullets to the arm.

Fearing more for Shaw's safety than anyone elses, she yelled, "Hold on, Sam!" and swerved the helicopter to the left and away from the rain of bullets. Shaw didn't hold on soon enough and was flung sideways, headlong into her lap.

The craft was beginning to spin out of control, but all she could think about was Shaw's hand on her upper thigh and their lips almost touching. Even after Shaw had quickly removed her person from Root, Root didn't right their course and they continued to careen.

"What are you _doing,_ Root!? Fly this damn thing or I will!"

Finally after several prompts from Her, she snapped out of her trance and took charge again, regaining control and dropping low out of sight of their assailants.

"What the hell guys?!" yelled Lionel from the backseat. Root was pleased to note how queasy he sounded. "I think I'm gonna hurl!"

"Just avoid my face, Lionel," came a barely audible voice.

"Hey, partner! Glad to see you among the living!"

That reminded Root of someone else. "How's it going, Harry?"

"Very well, Ms. Groves. I'm approaching the car as we speak. I take it all is well on your end?"

She looked towards Shaw who was too busy admiring the view from up here to notice that she was also being admired. Root smiled to herself. "Never better."

* * *

><p><strong>Okay, well, that's it for me. Thanks for sticking with this thing all the way through! I guess that means you guys enjoyed it! :)<strong>

**Here's hoping that Shaw will be back on the show someday. I didn't realize how much I'd miss her until she was gone. Ain't that always the truth of it though? **


End file.
